


Fly Away Home

by Ivorysilk



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: M/M, Stony Bingo 2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-07-28 17:34:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7650070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ivorysilk/pseuds/Ivorysilk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Tony tries to find his way home.</p><p>(No spoilers--this is sort of very loosely movie-verse, because it’s all I know, but is like set in vague!verse, really.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. (Sub)Urban Survival

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Ramble: I was going to do the bottom line of my bingo card but each fic ran very long; so since this one was in basically ficlet sections anyway, I made it a five times and used each prompt for a section--section titles are each of the prompts. Unfortunately unbeta'd, but huge thanks to both hoosierbitch and dapper anachronism for reading it over very last minute and quickly giving me some very valuable suggestions; all mistakes and problems with this piece are mine. 
> 
> Thank you to anyone who reads, thank you to all the bingo organizers for doing all the work and letting me play, and thank you for all the people in chat who were kind and encouraging!
> 
> For anyone interested, my bingo card may be found here:
> 
> https://40.media.tumblr.com/2796cd3b5ce6f734bf9a8241bec3ff59/tumblr_o25s9utINJ1tewqllo1_540.png

He’s four and three quarters, and that’s what he’d told the kidnapper-lady when she smiled at him and asked, after the boss-kidnapper left and it’s just her and one other one guy who told Tony he could call him Bert. She’s pretty, even with half her face hidden by a mask, with long blonde hair and a broad smile. Tony likes her smile, and when he smiles back she gives him a cookie and tells him to be good and quiet.

Tony isn’t very good at being good or quiet, he knows, but he tries. He always tries really hard, and so he sits in the corner like he’s told, and he beams when the kidnapper-lady tells him he’s doing a good job, even though he already nibbled at the crunchy (but delicious) cookie and it wasn’t very quiet at all. (His dad never thought he was quiet enough, even though he usually tried to be extra-quiet around his dad, and he was never allowed anything to eat, particularly not anything crunchy.) The kidnappers don’t even seem to mind that he’s spilled some crumbs, telling him he’s doing great. Bert ruffles his hair and calls him kid, tells him they could play some ball later. 

Tony has never played ball. He doesn’t know what it is, and the kidnapper laughs when he says so; tells him he’ll teach him.

The kidnappers are nicer than he’d expected. His father had told him once that when (not if) he was kidnapped he is to say nothing and wait quietly until he’s rescued, but that it would be better if he could get out of there himself. His security detail just tells him not to make anyone upset, and to follow a complicated protocol with a bunch of different scenarios that Tony didn’t really pay much attention to, because Superfriends was on in the background. His father gave him lectures about being strong and not crying, but Tony has no desire to cry. He doesn’t mind being here, actually. He likes Bert, and he likes Annie, and he wonders if they’ll let him stay a while. 

In the evening, though, the boss-kidnapper came back, and the other two look a bit scared, standing up and pulling Tony to his feet even though he’d been napping. He tries to rub the sleep from his eyes. 

“Get him up,” barks the boss. “Stark says he won’t pay, and that the kid’s not his anyway.”

The other two looked confused. “What? Boss, we’re—“

“We’re going to have to convince him. Kid, come here,” snaps the boss, and Tony hangs back near Annie, but she pushes him forward towards the boss-guy, and so he goes reluctantly. “Have you been lying to us, kid? Have you?” yells the boss, and shakes Tony hard.

“I’m not lying!” he shouts. “My name is Anthony Edward Stark!” 

The kidnapper-boss lets him go abruptly, and Tony goes sprawling. Annie immediately goes to him, pulling him into her lap and rubbing his back while he cries. “I’m sorry,” he sniffles, trying to stop, “I’m—“

“Well,” says the boss, “I guess we’ll have to convince him of that, won’t we?” His voice doesn’t sound very nice, and Tony begins to get scared again.

“Hank,” says Annie sharply, “I never signed up to hurt no little kids.”

“I never signed up to hurt the kid either,” chimes in Bert. “We were just supposed to take him.”

“Well, the plan’s changed,” barks boss-guy. “We’re gonna send Stark a little message.” 

Half an hour later, the polaroid camera is put away and Annie is dabbing a cold cloth against the darkening bruise on Tony’s face. Tony is working hard not to cry—he doesn’t want his father to see any photo of him crying, even when the boss-man had held him up by one arm, twisting it badly, and not letting go until Bert got a good shot, or even when he’d been dropped on the ground—but he is definitely ready to go home. Annie looks sad, like his mother, and Tony is scared and his face hurts. He wants Jarvis. He wants his own room. He doesn’t like it here anymore, and he doesn’t want to play ball either.

“I _am_ Tony Stark,” he tells Annie, when she brings him a dinner he has no wish to eat, swallowing back his tears. “I promise. I don’t—“

“Shhhh,” says Annie. “I know you are. You look just like your photo on the magazine cover.”

“Dad made me sit for it,” says Tony, and then, “Please, I really want to go home,” he whispers to Annie.

“Shhh,” says Annie. “Soon, baby. Soon you’ll be home, and this will all be over.” She holds him and tells him to go to sleep, but he’s cold and scared and can’t sleep. 

He falls asleep anyway.

“Howard Stark,” comes his dad’s voice over the speaker phone in the morning, and Tony wakes up with a start. He’s lying on the floor, and so he sits up, pushing back against the wall. His arm hurts a lot, and so does his face and his side. If Jarvis were there, he thinks he’d give Tony some ice for it. But Jarvis isn’t here, and no one here is looking at him.

“Mr. Stark,” says the boss-man. “I left you a message, I hope you received it.”

Tony reminds himself that his dad is smart. He’s always told Tony that if he was kidnapped, someone would come find him. His dad will fix this, and come get Tony.

“And I trust you understood mine,” replies his dad’s tinny voice, altered through the speaker. “That child is not my son, and Stark Industries does not pay ransoms. Kidnapping is a crime, however, as is assaulting a child, and you may rest assured that the authorities will come and find you. Do not contact me again.”

The ringtone is loud in the abrupt silence of the room.

“Now you listen here, Hank,” says Annie in a cold voice. “You will not harm this boy again. It’s not what we signed up for, Bert and I, and you will behave.”

The boss-man sighs, suddenly. “I know, Annie, I know. I’m sorry. I just—what kind of man doesn’t care about his own kid?”

“It’s my fault,” says Tony, in a small voice in the silence that followed. “It’s my fault. I’m not good enough. I--”

“Quiet, kid,” says Bert, but his voice sounds tired and not angry. “So, Boss, what’re we gonna do now?”

“We’ll have to get rid o’ the kid, ‘acourse,” comes the reply, “can’t have him hangin’ around.”

Tony doesn’t know what that means, but it doesn’t sound good, and he presses closer to Annie, who presses a kiss to his hair. His stomach grumbles, and he remembers that he didn’t eat dinner, but he doesn’t know what time it is. It’s still dark outside. “Go to sleep, baby,” Annie says to him, “things will be better in the morning.”

But when they wake him, he’s still sleepy and upset, and he has to struggle not to cry or whine, because he still hurts but he doesn’t want to make them mad, he wants them to think he’s being good. They put him in a large station wagon and drive him to the park. It’s early morning, and the park is cold, and Tony is hungry and tired as he climbs out of the car and they lead him over to a bench. This park isn’t very nice—there is garbage and dog poop everywhere, and the bench is covered in bird droppings and a wet newspaper. No one is around. 

Hank then picks him up and sets him on the bench. Bert ruffles his hair and Hank gives him a chocolate bar, saying he is sorry for hitting him, and Annie—Annie hugs him and kisses his cheek and says she thinks he’s a great kid, and someone will come and find him soon, so he should just sit tight.

Tony doesn’t want to stay in the park by himself, especially now that he knows his father doesn’t want him. Maybe--

“Couldn’t you—“ asks Tony quietly, “couldn’t you take me with you? Bert was gonna teach me to play ball, and I promise I’ll be really good, I promise—“

“No, sweetheart,” says Annie, “We can’t, I’m sorry. You just stay quiet, now, and everything will be all right, you’ll see.”

Tony doesn’t argue. He’s been as good as he could be, and they still don’t want him either.

No one comes to find him right away. Tony is cold, and hungry, and the chocolate bar makes him sick and he throws it all up, and no one comes for him. When the sun starts to climb higher, and it gets hotter, Tony crawls under the bench to lie down in the dirt and grass and pieces of plastic, but he is both too hot and too cold, and shivering too hard to sleep. And then a man in jogging clothes is bending down and asking if he is okay. And then there are police and sirens and lots of people talking, and his father is pulling him along and smiling and smiling until someone asks him to pose with Tony and then he hugs Tony until the flash goes off in Tony’s face, blinding him. Tony can’t take it anymore and he starts to cry. 

“Stop it, Tony,” says his father coldly, “You’ve caused enough trouble for one day, don’t you think? What possessed you to go walking off with criminals, have you no common sense at all?”

He hadn’t meant to. He hadn’t meant --

“Here,” says his father, “the police have some questions. Jarvis will come and pick you up when you’re done. I expect better from you in future, Tony.”

“Come on, kid,” says the policeman. 

The police man is large and looks mean and Tony doesn’t want to go with him, but his father pulls his hand away and pushes him towards the man. “Tony! Go on, I’ve got a lot of work to do now; please don’t be difficult. “

The police man takes him to a room with a couch and gives him some juice, but Tony still feels sick and doesn’t drink it. Tony doesn’t answer the questions either, not about where he was taken or who had him or whether he had ever heard their names. He just sits, quiet and still, nodding his head when they asked if he is okay, if he can hear them, if he understands. Eventually he is taken to another room and a woman who says she is a nurse asks him how he is. He tells her he’s fine, and when she asks where his parents are, he tells her they are at home. She frowns at him before asking if he doesn’t mind to undress, but he doesn’t really want to take off his clothes, and tells her so. It’s cold, and he can’t stop shivering.

She asks, but he doesn’t want to drink anything, and he isn’t hungry. He just doesn’t answer when she asks him if anything hurts. He tells her he feels fine, and he wants to go home.

Tony really wants to go home. 

When the officer comes back, the nurse says, “He’s refusing an exam, and at his age, I shouldn’t do one without parental consent anyway. Where are his parents?” 

It isn’t true; Tony hasn’t said ‘no’ to anything but taking off his clothes, but he doesn’t correct the nurse. It isn’t polite to question adults.

The officer shakes his head. “Stark took off, and the missus never came. We’re supposed to call their butler for pick up. Rich people.” He snorts, and then looks over at Tony before adding, “Poor kid.”

It isn’t long after that that Jarvis comes. Tony stands when Jarvis arrives, but Jarvis leans down and picks Tony right up, holding him, and Tony can’t help crying again. “It’s okay, young Master,” says Jarvis soothingly. “It’s okay. It’s all over now. You’re safe. I’m here. Don’t cry, it’s okay.”

It’s almost a week later that Tony asks Jarvis why his father had said Tony wasn’t his, after a nightmare that Tony can’t quite remember, but doesn’t want to go back to sleep after either. “Your father did not mean the things he said, Tony,” Jarvis tells him. “He is a very important man, and cannot give in to threats or bullies, remember what Captain America says? You’ll understand better when you’re older.”

Years later, when Tony is older, Tony would learn that his mother had become hysterical and had to be sedated; his father had sent her to Majorca for a “rest” and Tony didn’t even see her until well after the bruises had healed and he was back at school. As for his father … his father had been called away on business while Tony was still at the police station, and so he sent Tony a gift certificate for a local bookstore, with strict instructions to Jarvis that Tony was only to get books that were educational and not frivolous. 

Tony never used it.

And Tony’s kidnappers are never identified, and never found.


	2. Batteries Not Included

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see part one for summary and notes.

It’s his first business trip as CEO, after his father’s death and Tony’s departure from school to assume his rightful place in the family business. It’s his first trip, and he’s excited and nervous and eager in a way that whenever he thinks of it afterwards he knows he never will be again. That trip had been a disillusionment on many fronts, and the kidnapping was only the least of it. 

Because of course it all goes haywire. Of course it does.

They get him just as he’s leaving the airport in Hong Kong. They don’t speak English and in any event, they gag him immediately. They are not careful with their treatment of how they stuff him in their unmarked vehicle or drag him to the ubiquitous cement warehouse. He’s only a little injured and he’s only a little scared, but he is very annoyed. He was trying to stick to the schedule, and now they’d all think he was irresponsible--

And his father is dead. There’s no one to—

But the kidnappers clearly have a plan, and call Obie. In retrospect, of course it’s Obie they contact. Of course. Obie, his right hand man, his father’s right hand man, the company’s main man: the man widely acknowledged to be the real brains behind the company’s operations and direction. The man they all think controls Tony. Because Tony is just a kid, Howard’s useless kid, useful only for his name, useful only as a figurehead. Tony: the company mascot. 

Because Tony knows, he’s always known that they only elected him CEO as a PR exercise. A trained monkey with a few tricks up his sleeve, the orphaned son of the former company head who looked sad but smiled pretty for the cover of the magazines--of course they had to allow him to call himself the CEO. (Also, he inherited the controlling share, couldn’t get round him just yet. Bad press, you know).

But in the end, either as Howard’s heir or as his newly appointed Stark-named President of the Board, either way, Tony’s considered expendable. Or, more accurately, he’s just as useful dead as he is alive.

And then, Obie is on the television screen in front of him. Obie, who held him after his parents’ funeral and brought him pizza and taught him dirty Irish limericks to raucous piano accompaniment. Obie, not his father, Obie who has always been there for him as well as Stark Industries and for one moment, seeing Obie’s familiar and safe face on the screen, Tony hopes—

But Obie’s face is calm as he sees Tony’s bruised face and ripped clothing, the blood coating his hair and streaking the white fabric of his shirt; he’s as relaxed as if he’s eating pizza in Tony’s living room. 

“That brat,” says Obie, “is a pain in my ass, and you can kill him if you want. In fact, please, you’ll do me a favour. Stark Industries doesn’t pay ransoms, especially not for the spoiled useless son of our former CEO. So do what you want. You won’t get a cent from me, and I wouldn’t give even half a damn about whatever you do to him.”

Tony doesn’t want to be hurt by what Obie is doing and saying—he wants to be indifferent, he wants to be ice. He wants to be a businessman, like his father; he wants to be objective and realistic and clear-minded about what’s going on and why. After his first kidnapping, he’d known and been told that if he couldn’t outsmart a bunch of thugs, he wasn’t worth the resources to rescue, and so he’d spent years being careful, watching his back, abiding by every rule imposed by his security detail. He knows that his father wouldn’t have paid, had he still been alive; he knows that company policy dictates that ransom demands go unanswered. Still, even years later, he can remember clearly how Obie’s words bit and stung, how coldly sincere Obie had looked, and how alone he had felt, how scared.

Years later, he will remember how something in him, some faint hope that Obie would have been at least upset about the situation, had died in that moment. Even though afterwards, Obie had been so convincing in explaining how it had all been an act for the cameras, an act for the kidnappers, a required show. Even though he’d known all of that then, and knew better now, Tony had been hurting and terrified, young and foolish: years later, he’ll remember that moment as the most painful part of the kidnapping.

Of course, in the here and now, he doesn’t have a lot of time for emotion. Once the kidnappers get over their anger and realize that Tony is otherwise useless to them, that Obie isn’t bluffing, that there will be no ransom or even a counter-offer, they decide to get rid of him. Unlike Tracy and Bert and Hank, who had a shred of decency, these men are looking to cut their losses, and Tony is young, and pretty enough, and still has some value as a result. Tony might be naïve, but he’s learning, and he’s learnt to work fast when needed. And while these kidnappers might be ruthless and tiresome, they are also blessedly stupid, and so not only do they believe that they can get rid of Tony on the black market and still escape with their lives, they throw him in a room with an electronic lock and leave him alone there while they consider their dwindling options. Conveniently, they don’t even bother to tie him up; his too-injured-to-move-crumpled-heap pose when they’d first thrown him luckily fooling them. Ha!

Tony’s up at the door and dismantling the lock in minutes. His injuries barely slow him down.

Later, he’ll tell himself that Obie never meant it; later, Obie comes over and makes a joke, in his booming voice, about what a great actor he was, yeah, and here, have a beer, they were so stupid those kidnappers to think they could get away with taking Tony, what was this, Tony, number six, hasn’t the criminal element learned any better by now?”

And because he doesn’t know any better and because he wants to, Tony will let go of the fear and tension. He’ll laugh and believe, believe that Obie only said what he did because of his faith in Tony. Because his father had always said that if a Stark was kidnapped, it was their job to get themselves out of it, and not to waste the resources. He will believe that all it means is that Obie has faith in him, and he got out of it anyway, so obviously Obie was right.

But later, there’s a cave in Afghanistan, and Tony has shrapnel in his chest and a car battery for a heart (Yinsen’s battery, even though Obie hadn’t planned that, hadn’t wanted that) and his kidnappers are much less easy to get away from. Tony manages, though, and soon after replaces the battery with something that again causes Obie to look at him covetously, unwittingly forcing Obie to try to kill him yet again. By the third time Obie tries to kill him (that he knows of), Tony has accepted that that even when hugging him as he cried when he told him how his parents had died, even through ball games at twelve and birthday parties at nine, even when he’d told Tony how proud he was to be his godfather after he’d won his first science fair, Obie had never actually considered Tony _his_. 

It’s a bitter lesson, and sometimes he wonders if he should’ve just kept the battery, or given up in the arc reactor like Obie wanted. If he should have just given in, and then maybe--

In the end, Tony tells himself it just makes killing Obie that much easier.


	3. Natural Disaster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see part one for summary and notes.

He’s taken in broad daylight, from a public place, with nothing more fancy than a concealed weapon and a threat to the civilians all around them. Tony doesn’t think he can face Clint or Natasha if he has to admit that he got nabbed by the operators of a damn ice cream truck, but it’s not like he has a lot of immediate options—he’d been going to lunch with a couple of his scientists from R&D, and their eyes are wide and scared and he can’t have that. So he goes. He goes, and they make the standard threats, but Tony knows the drill: hell, he re-wrote the drill, and instituted the training program for it.

They tie him, hands and feet, and leave him in a small, dark closet. He can’t stand it. He has no choice. 

He doesn’t know how much time goes by, but they haul him out and he can’t see in the brightness. He hears them dialing, and hears Pepper’s voice, and when he looks up at the screen, she’s dropped her glass and gone paper-white. Tony silently urges her to get with the program.

“You’ve got Tony,” she says, all her polish and composure gone. She looks—

 _No Pepp, no--_ Tony is chanting silently in his head, she can’t give in, they don’t work like that, she knows better—

And in the next second, she does. “You’ve got Tony Stark. What is he worth to you? And what do you think he’s worth to us? I run the company, and our R&D department is top notch. Nowadays, he spends most of his time drinking and playing superhero; the company no longer needs him, and therefore, we cannot pay you. Or, more accurately: we won’t.”

“I would have thought,” sneers Thug #1, which is what Tony is calling the speaker in his head. All of the kidnappers have similar body types and are masked and dressed all in black. There’s not much to distinguish them. As kidnapping ops go, this is one of the more professional ones. Tony’s tied so tightly he can barely wriggle. He’d lost feeling in most of his extremities hours ago. “I would have thought he meant something to you, at least personally.”

“He’s my boss. I put up with him, slept with him, and now I am one of the most powerful women in the world. What do you think?” Pepper’s tone is calm and acerbic, one perfect eyebrow arched slightly. As if the kidnapper is hopelessly naïve. 

And it hurts, it hurts—Tony knows he buys friendship: always has, will always have to. But it hurts. Because a small part of him has always wondered, a part of him he’s never voiced, never ever because that would destroy them, destroy _him_ , but Pepper works for him and as much as she loves him, she loves his company too –

“You heard the lady,” Tony calls, and his voice is hard as iron.

“You have 48 hours,” says Thug #1, cutting off both Tony and the feed.

The next few hours go both quickly and slowly. The kidnappers torment him, torture him a bit, but Tony’s been tormented and tortured by the best. These guys may be good, but they are still professionals, and there’s nothing personal at stake for them. They’re looking for results more than satisfaction, and Tony can live through this. He’s hungry, he’s tired, he’s hurting and beyond exhausted, but he can live through this.

He talks, too. Tells them what they want to hear, and a few things they don’t—that no one is coming, and all about the contingency plans Tony has put in place, should he die, should he be incapacitated, should he go missing forever. Tells him they can google it—redundancy is just good corporate strategy, and S.I. is immaculately run, Pepper makes sure of it. Even the Avengers will be taken care of—of course they will, they’re his teammates and friends, and yeah, he’s not really an Avenger, but he likes to consider them his—

After a little while, he doesn’t really know what he’s saying. He’s probably repeating himself, but so what? It’s not like he’s got a teleprompter. “As the lady said,” Tony continues, ignoring him and pushing every note of derision into his voice he can, “As she said, the company doesn’t need me anymore. I have insurance and an excellent succession plan—Stark Industries employs thousands, you think we wouldn’t? They don’t even need me for the Avengers anymore. You are fools.”

“Mr. Stark,” says Thug #3, politely, apparently fed up of over 20 hours of Tony’s rambling, “we can gag you if we choose.”

And abruptly, Tony is tired. He knows he’s going to have to figure a way out of this mess, he knows he’ll have to—because even though Pepper will be fine, she and Happy both, he’s made sure of it, and even though the company will trip along, he still adds value, and he still has plans. The Avengers, too, are another story and whatever else, and whether or not they think they need him, he _knows_ their lives are made easier by him. For what he can do, for his tech, for his backing, for the things he can give them and the things he can make for them. And _he_ needs to make sure that they are safe, that they have what they need, and maybe what he does isn’t all that much, maybe S.I. can give them a lot of what he does personally, maybe he’s deluding himself, maybe he’s not really _wanted_ on the team but they still need him, just a little, and it’s something, it’s something and it matters and when he gets back, he’ll work harder and better and do more, he will—

And then there’s Pepper, and Steve, and the rest—

It doesn’t matter what any of them say, or do, or think of him: he loves them. He wants every moment he can get with them. But he needs to get out of here first. 

“What are you going to do to me?” he asks the thugs dully. He needs a moment, and information gathering is always useful, right? Plus--he kind of wants to know what will happen if he fails. Options are always good.

“What do you mean,” asks Thug #3, and he sounds honestly curious.

“I’m just wondering,” says Tony, casual. “You know you’re not going to get what you’re asking for, so what’s the plan, Stan?”

“You really do not think they will pay a measly ransom? For the great Tony Stark?” Thug #2 actually sounds surprised, even while Thug #1 is saying, “His name is not Stan.” A little slow, that one.

“Bucko, do you honestly think this is my first rodeo?” Tony laughs, but it turns into a kind of pained cough and ow, oh, something wasn’t quite right there, “S.I. has a policy. _S.H.I.E.L.D._ has a policy. I’ve been kidnapped _so_ many times it’s boring now, and no one has ever bothered to pay one red cent for me. Ever. Your attempt won’t be the first. It won’t be the last. Usually doesn’t work out so well for your side, but there you have it. So either I’ll get out of here or you’ll kill me. There’s not going to be any ransom. Get it through your heads. No one’s even looking--

And then Clint is dropping casually down in front of him, and Natasha is cutting away the zip ties, and he can hear the Hulk smashing, and Tony blinks, and blinks, but he can’t stay awake, and he’s not sure—

He wakes up in Medical, and everyone is upset with him and he is so tired he doesn’t understand, why is he so tired. It takes him two days to work up the energy to sneak out, and when he does--

Pepper is calmly waiting for him in their bedroom.

“JARVIS was monitoring you, of course,” greets Pepper. “And Clint and Natasha rotated watch. You think we weren’t going to keep a close eye one you?”

Tony blinks. He’s—

“Didn’t you wonder why Happy was waiting for you with the car as soon as you let JARVIS know you wanted him? Getting from the Tower to midtown takes longer than ten minutes, Tony.”

Tony blinked. Pepper had an odd look on her face.

“Come on, Tony, sit down. We’ve got to talk.”

He was still recovering, he told himself, and for whatever reason, breathing was still hard, that was it--

“Tony, I know you think you’re always alone and no one will bother to come for you, that no one cares aside from what you can give them, but that’s not the case. It hasn’t been for a long, long time. Because you’ve always had me and Rhodey, and now? When it comes to people coming for you, we’ve got to get in line.”

“I know, I know—“ he started, trying to cut her off, whatever she was saying, it didn’t matter, he was home, everything was fine, could they just move on?

“No, you don’t. That’s why Steve yelled at you. That’s why Natasha won’t talk to you, and why Bruce is sulking in his lab.” He remembered Steve yelling, but he didn’t think about why Natasha and Bruce hadn’t visited, assumed they’d just been busy--

“That’s silly, of course I know, why would you-“ 

“Sweetie,” says Pepper, still with that odd look of determination and misery, but clearly momentarily amused, “you live with two of the best professional spies in the world, a hyper-vigilant scientist, a god, and a military captain whose job it is to critically assess the men under his command. Did you really think they wouldn't notice?”

Notice? Notice what? Nothing was making sense, but he couldn’t just sit here and say nothing. “I kind of thought I’d—“

“I know you hired Natalie to make me jealous, until you changed your mind and started forcibly pushing me away.” He blinks, that was years ago, what?

“Yes, well, that was different, I thought I was dying—“ Seriously, not this again, she knew why he--

“I _know_ , Tony—well, of course you didn’t tell me and I didn’t know then, but I know about all that _now_. It took me a while to understand how that made any sense, but okay. Anyway, my point is: you have more than just me now. And I will always love you. I promise.” Her voice was very gentle.

And now, he could see the tears in her eyes, and -- “Are you breaking up with me? No, no, tell me you’re—“ He was safe, she didn’t have to pay, he wasn’t going to hold her words against her or anything she knew that, so what was happening, what was--

“Tony. Things have changed, and you know it.” Pepper’s voice is clear and firm, but her eyes are sad, and there are tears falling now. Why is she sad, everything is fine, he’s fine and not even barely scratched, everything is going well, why--

“Pepper, I love you, please—“ Panic is bubbling up in his chest, what is she saying, he can’t catch his breath--

“No, Tony,” and now he can see that Pepper is crying; Pepper is crying and he can’t deal with that, what should he do, he’ll buy her shoes, Pepper loves shoes, hell, he’ll buy her a shoe factory-- “You needed me, and—I let you get confused by that. But you don’t need me anymore—well, you do, but not like that. And I know you love me—that’s not the point.”

Of course that’s the point, what else even is the point, Pepper is totally the point--

“Besides,” she says smiling even as the tears continue to fall, “I’m selfish. I’m selfish, and I know now that you’re not mine—you never really were, and I can’t have that. I love you, but you’re not mine. You’re Stark Industries’ and the Avengers’ and the world’s—and maybe someone else’s. But you aren’t mine, and you never were--not really.”

“I am, please, I’ll try harder, I will, please Pepper—“ he begs, tripping over the words, fast as he can, because he can fix this, he can, he broke it because that’s who he is and that’s what he does and clearly he broke something but he didn’t mean to and if he can just be good enough smart enough fast enough--

“Tony,” she says, her words a gentle rebuke. “Tony, this isn’t really about you.”

But it is, it is and he knows it but he can do better, she has to believe him, she has to—

“Please,” he begs, desperate, pleading, “Please, Pep, I’ll—“

“I love you, Tony,” she says, and walks out of his home.


	4. Magazine Cover

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see part one for summary and notes.

“Hey Tony,” says Steve, his carefully neutral voice sending alarm bells through Tony’s mind. “You’re on the cover of _Futura_ again.” 

“Relax,” replies Tony, relieved. “I didn’t sneak off. I did a photo shoot for them last year. In a bunch of outfits, and told them they could call me for a quote and then use them at will; it’s good publicity for S.I.” 

He’s lying on the couch in the common room, despondently playing with his tablet. Even though Pepper’s broken up with him, she still runs his life, and as much as she usually nags him to go to meetings and the like, after this latest kidnapping, she won’t _let_ him go to any meetings, or to his office, or even to the lab. They’re all a bit freaked, and Tony is too, to be honest—this last time, after Tony teased some new tech innovations in an interview with TIME magazine, apparently, one of his competitors, someone calling himself Dr. Rider, had him kidnapped. Tony had gone to an arranged lunch meeting with someone purporting to be from a tech group called A.I.M., it had all checked out, and then the next thing he knew, he was in a white cell without doors or windows.

They’d asked him for his tech. When he refused, they were very polite, and just told him to let them know when he changed his mind. Then, except for a couple of incidents, they mostly left him alone.

It had taken three weeks for the Avengers to find him. He’d started talking to himself, talking to the others, he didn’t even know what he’d said. He had no way to get out—these guys were smart, and scary. All he had was to hope JARVIS could trace him, and JARVIS did. 

But when they finally get him out, and he’s a bit roughed up, sure, but not even that badly injured--they’re all pretty upset with him, and they won’t really tell him _why_.

It freaks him out, but he’s trying to go with it, to appease them somewhat until things settle. Plus, Pepper has made the Avengers promise to keep an eye on him, and while Tony didn’t think any of them would agree, they’ve not only agreed, but taken their vow (especially Steve) far too seriously, in his opinion. Even Tony isn’t quite crazy enough (or, let’s be honest, skilled enough) to escape the lot of them.

Plus, he’s tired, and the broken ribs, particularly the ones near the reactor, are still giving him grief. The doctors had nagged him about it when they last came to examine him, blathering on about rest and close monitoring and a bunch of other stuff he ignored, until they left and Clint, who apparently never got the memo about privacy and personal health information, dropped out of the ceiling to glare at Tony about the whole thing.  
As if Tony had gotten himself kidnapped-- _again_ \--on purpose. 

As if he’d planned to waste their time trying to get him out, when if they’d just given JARVIS a little more time--

Anyway, after that whole fiasco, he’s had to say good bye to any hope of lab time, let alone communication with his company, even R&D.

Which is killing him, because there are at least three projects, aside from the new Stark phone, that he is dying to check in on and get an update on. Sure, he’d picked the project leads himself, but he still likes to keep connected.

He sighs, and goes back to tweaking the Mark 24 armor the best he can without getting to test anything.

Until it’s gently removed from his grasp.

“You’re supposed to be resting,” says Steve, smiling at him, only the hint of a rebuke in his eyes.

“I’m bored,” Tony protests.

“Well, isn’t this usually when we hang out in the lab? I can hang out here just as well while you rest.”

“Excuse you,” retorts Tony. “I don’t _hang out_. I am busy doing Very Important things, I’ll have you know—“

“Tony, the last time you were in the lab, you tried to make the toaster oven sing Rubber Ducky whenever Clint came within a two foot radius.”

“That’s very important! I’m trying to make Clint feel welcome and at home! Really, Steve, I though you’d support my efforts to at team building.“

“I’m not sure what we considered team building and what you consider team building are the same thing.”

“You mean back in the day? I’m not inclined to eat ration bars in a trench, Steven Grant. And don’t tell me you miss them.”

“Not the ration bars, no.” There was a shadow in Steve’s eyes, then, and Tony cursed himself. Steve had been spending the most time with him, since he’d been back—since before that, really, and whatever Tony wished, Steve didn’t owe him anything. Steve only did it because he was a decent guy, and he didn’t deserve half of all the shit that had happened to him. 

Steve, Tony was sure, deserved everything. 

“Buck’s—Steve, Bucky’s fine. You know he is. And we’re going to find a way to get him back. I swear.“

“If anyone can, Tony, it’d be you. I trust you,” said Steve, smiling down at Tony in a way that Tony had spent the last two years trying to ignore, but now that Pepper and he’d been broken up (almost eight months, it seems so long and not long enough, even though he’s starting to see she’d been right and this is better) it’s getting harder.

Steve’s not his, though. Steve’s got a whole other world he misses, a whole other world he can’t let go of, and a whole world waiting for him when he does. Tony’s not a part of that, not in the ways that count. Tony’s just a pit stop on his way.

The Avengers Assemble alarm starts to blare. 

Steve is already leaping to his feet, twisting back only to say, “Tony, you’re benched, everyone else--Quinjet in five, go now.”

Five seconds later, the room is silent and empty. Tony drags himself to his feet, snatching his tablet, getting JARVIS to cut into the feed.

Robotic animal hybrids, apparently. Robotic animal hybrids, and – there’s acid, and Cap’s voice is steady, steady but with a note of stress, Hulk is roaring, but Bruce doesn’t really do robotics, and this smacks of A.I.M., what they said they’d do, and why is Thor not around, they need Thor—they need Iron Man—

He’s just a consultant, which means that technically he’s an independent contractor. They can’t bench him. He does what he wants.

And Iron Man wants to Assemble. 

**********************

Cap, predictably, pitches a fit when Tony arrives at the scene of the battle, in the skies just to the west of Kansas City. 

“Iron Man!” cries Cap, “what are you doing here?”

“Uh, battling whatever the hell these robotic random creatures are, obviously, what are _you_ doing here?” Tony retorts, throwing a repulsor blast at a pesky flying whatever-it-is and swooping down to give Natasha a lift. 

“You’re benched!” yells Black Widow even as he’s setting her down. “You idiot!”

“Nope,” says Tony. “I’m clearly not. Check your four o’clock, Widow.” Natasha swings around and does just that, taking the robot whatever it is behind her out without it ever even seeing her. “What’s the deal here, why on earth is Doom attacking here? And what even are these things? Pigdragons? Lizardgerbils? What?”

“I have no idea what rich people pets you had, Stark,” says Clint, “but there weren’t no gerbils that size where I came from. Seriously, Tony, we can handle this, you don’t—“

“Focus, birdbrain, I’m fine. You nearly got clawed there. By a _flying rodent_.”

As he speaks, the Hulk conveniently smashes the rat slash cougar thing, roaring up at the sky.

“Iron Man, I’m ordering you to retreat,” says Cap.

“You can’t, Cap, I’m not an Avenger, remember? I’m just here on an independent basis.”

“What the hell are you on about, Stark?” snaps Hawkeye, shooting arrow after arrow at the creatures to no avail.

“Interesting, each of these things is different, I wonder what exactly Hydra is—it’s the collar, do you see it?“

“Yeah, the one that’s flashing? I bet I could hit it.”

“I bet you could too, Hawkeye. Did I give you those disruptor arrows yet?”

“Sure did.”

“I like field tests, don’t you?”

“Iron Man, I know you didn’t give Hawkeye untested equipment, stop trying to distract me like that. Nice job, though, now please withdraw from the field. Hawkeye, we’ll just get them into position so you can pick them off, easy—“

“Tony, watch it—“

But it’s too late. He turns at the warning, but he’s still not quite 100%, and the last of the creatures claws across the armor, managing to find a seam and tearing. The claws must be adamantium, must be because Tony’s spinning, he’s spinning and spinning and how did Hydra produce this much adamantium, anyway, this is a problem, he needs to—

He blinks, and he’s on the ground, and something, something is—

“Tony, Tony can you hear me?”

“Brucie, why’re you in my room naked? This is a good dream.”

“Tony, focus for a second, where are the catches for the bottom half of the suit?”

“I don’t—“ 

Something feels off, and then Tony can make out JARVIS’ voice, “Sir, sir, the lower torso plate is dented, it is cutting into your skin. Blood loss is estimated at approximately 1 litre.”

Natasha is yelling at him. “Do not,” she snarled, “ever do that again. You are one of us, you understand? You’re ours, and we don’t—“

Tony’s can feel the blood seeping on the left side of where his lower ribcage would be, making everything uncomfortably squishy. He doesn’t like it. “No, I’m not,” says Tony, gasping, “Tony Stark not recommended, remember? You—“

“Don’t be stupid,” says Natasha. “And stop talking. Does your chest hurt?”

“Are you asking if I have a heartache? Really? Because you shot me down, what, five times—“ he breaks off coughing, and his throat dries up. She presses down harder, and it hurts, badly, but he can’t manage to force out the words of protest.

“Where are the damn medics?” she snarls, “and I didn’t. I was supposed to seduce you, moron, and you didn’t bite.”

“No! I couldn’t have—“

“You hide your decency, but I found it anyway, even if I left it out of the report. You didn’t take advantage of me, Tony, when you could have, and that means I like you. You tell anyone, I’ll kill you myself.”

“Might not have to go to the effort—“ Tony begins, gasping. His chest hurts almost as much as his left side does, and his arm feels numb.

“Shut up, moron! You die on me, I won’t just kill you, I’ll make it painful. And if you survive me, you’ll still need to deal with Cap. Right. I can see you understand me. Where are the damn medics?”

“Tasha,” gasps Tony, his hand flailing towards her until she catches it, “Tell—Tell Steve—“

“Oh, bozhe moi, are we in some kind of badly scripted television drama? Seriously? You can tell Cap anything you want yourself, you idiot. Don’t be stupid. As if I’d get involved between you two. Medic! Over here! Maybe you can make him less stupid.”

************

He wakes up in a hospital bed, again. This is a problem. It’s a problem, and becomes a bigger problem when he sees Natasha. Her mouth is a thin line, and she looks displeased. Like, she looks seriously pissed off. A pissed off Natasha never bodes well. Tony tries a smile.

Natasha does not return it. 

“Um, so, can someone hook me up with a phone? I just—“

“There’s no one you need to call, Tony. We’ve called Pepper already for you. Relax.”

“Yes, well, now that I’m awake, I’ll just, you know, call Happy—“

“Like I said, Tony,” says Natasha, “relax. No one you need to call.”

“Listen, Widow,” says Tony, “I know this whole medical shtick is SHIELD procedure but you know, I’m just a consultant—not really SHIELD and besides, I’m a Stark, of course I have my own private physician and you know how she likes to play doctor—hey,” he says, trying to move back as the nurse kept approaching, “you guys can practice on Clint or something, go on, shoo—no, really, I’m sure you can’t afford the liability –“

“You’re not leaving, Stark,” interrupts Clint. “Stop wasting your energy. Also, you’ve been out for three days. The rest of us have been gotten ourselves patched up and debriefed in that time. Only you’re left. And guess what? We’ve had a lot of time to make sure your debrief will be extra-special.”

Tony tries not to wince. Clint isn’t usually serious, but the thing is—when Clint _is_ serious, it never bodes well. 

“Be gentle, I’m hurt?” Tony tried. 

Clint snorted. You’re an Avenger, Tony, do you get that? I don’t care what shit Fury or whoever told you, you’re one of us and if you’re too thick to realize that, after everything, after everything we’ve done or said, well, then, maybe you shouldn’t—“ Clint pauses and turns away taking a breath. “I’m out of here. Tasha?” 

“Right behind you, Barton. There’s no point. He’s Cap’s problem, now.”

“Damn straight.” And oh, God, that’s Steve. Tony tries to turn his head to the side, but isn’t quite able to manage it. He breathes through the panic.

“You’ve got a head wound, Tony,” says Steve, no quarter in his face or tone. “They’ve put you in a collar, so you can’t move around.”

“Can you get it off?” asks Tony, a little more plaintive than he’d like. 

“No,” says Steve. “You need to keep that on, Tony.”

Tony bites his tongue and tries very hard not to squirm. He’s not sure it works. It was no secret, and Steve well knew that Tony hated hospitals. Having your first major medical procedure done without anaesthetic in a sweltering cave would do that to a guy.

Well, correction. It wasn’t just hospitals. It was anything medical, really. The sight of an IV, hell, even the smell of disinfectant, some days—well, most days; his surgery may have been done in a cave, but Yinsen had been liberal with the disinfectant (he’d had to be, in those conditions, and even then he’d said it was a minor miracle that Tony hadn’t ended up with some kind of raging infection)—gave Tony memories and triggers he’d rather not deal with. Even if the superhero business was injury prone. Because it didn’t matter. If it was up to him, and let’s face it, it always was--he’d take pain over dealing with the kind of pain the medical profession could inflict any day. 

Except, apparently, this time.

“I’m not going to argue with you, Tony,” says Steve when Tony opens his mouth, “so I’ll tell you what I’ve already told the doctors, and the team. Two days. You stay here two days, and then I’m taking you to the Tower.”

“Really?” Tony blinks, trying to hide the strain in his voice. He’s been—he can do two days. If that’s all it is, he can tolerate that, he can survive that. 

“Yes.”

“They agreed to that?” Tentatively, because there’s a catch, there’s always a catch.

“No. It’s what is going to happen. All right?” 

“Yes.” Tony can’t help the smile spreading across his face, and blames the drugs. Steve’s word is sure and firm, and Steve doesn’t lie. And because Steve knows him. Steve knows him, and so he got him the best deal—better than he’d have gotten himself, probably—that he could. Tony never even had to ask. No wonder Natasha is pissed.

“Bruce?”

“Won’t talk to me. You know Bruce—he’s fairly laid back, but he’s stubborn as heck.”

“Like someone else I know.”

“Oh, I know someone worse,” says Steve, not a hint of a smile on his face. “You took years off my life, Tony. You can’t do these things.”

“I knew if I could only get a look at them, then—“

“We’d have managed. Or we wouldn’t, but still—you can’t keep doing these things. The kidnapping was bad enough.”

“I told you, I’d have found a way, JARVIS was on it, you didn’t need to—“

“Yeah, that wasn’t going to happen. You’re one of us, Tony. We couldn’t just sit on our hands while someone had taken you.”

“That’s what you’re supposed to do! That’s the way it works! It wasn’t the first time I’ve been taken, you know.”

“Really? Tell me about that.” Steve’s voice is more neutral than curious, but whatever. Tony wants him to understand that he’s not a liability. All the fame, the high profile—kidnapping comes with that, but it doesn’t mean anything, it’s not a problem that should negatively affect the rest of them. It doesn’t need to be a problem for Steve.

“Steve, the first time I’ve been taken I was four. And dad told me that he expected me to outsmart my kidnappers, and, well, they let me go, but same difference. They _want_ you to get all bent out of shape, right, and you can’t give them that, you just have to trust that I’ll figure out a way to get out, and if I don’t—well, then, that’s on me.”

“Howard told you that, did he?”

“He was right. S.I. can’t just—“

“S.I. can go hang.” Tony looks up, startled. Steve’s eyes are filled with rage, and his fists are clenched as he bites out his words from behind a clenched jaw. “I’ll do what I need to do. Tony, I’m never going to leave you, and neither will the rest of the team. Understand?”

“That doesn’t make—“

“Okay, forget that. You don’t have to understand, I’m just telling you. It’s not acceptable. I don’t care what Howard told you. Things are not like that anymore. Besides which, I don’t want to talk about that. Back there, you told Tasha to tell me something. What was it?” Steve’s eyes on him are intense, and Tony looks away.

“Uh—well, you know, I don’t--“ Steve’s still pretty unexpectedly keyed up, and Tony’s not sure what to do to get him to calm down again. Certainly he knows that part of the answer was not to get into the crap he might have said when he was literally bleeding out and not really thinking clearly. Certainly even if he did need to explain himself at some point, the time to do that is not when he’s on a shit load of drugs and his mind isn’t sharp enough to come up with a really good explanation. 

“Tony.” Steve’s voice cuts into his skittering thoughts. “You’re one of us, but it’s more than that. You know that. Also, the kidnappers kept recordings, Tony. I listened to them. We all did.”

Oh shit. The world blanks out for a second, for a minute—he’d said things. Things that were—

He’d been rambling, and calling, and at one point, he’d been tired, and thirsty, and maybe had a bit of a concussion, and he can’t be responsible for the shit he says—

He can’t be responsible for saying how much he loves the Avengers, how he considers them friends, how he’s made sure that whatever happens, they’ll be fine, they’ll be as safe as he can make them, they’ll be provided for, they’ll never have to work, not if they don’t want to—

And that Steve, he’ll take care of Steve, too, not because the man deserves it—he does, enlisting so young, super-soldier, losing his whole family, biological and otherwise, and that if only Steve was his, if only Steve was, he’d do anything, but in the meantime, he’d done everything, and not just for Steve--

Yup, he might have said those things. Might have, might have said more. Might have checked with JARVIS that he had, and when JARVIS confirmed it, wiped the tapes without needing to hear the detail. Right off the SHIELD servers.

It had been three weeks, and he wasn’t quite right by the end. He hadn’t known they were taping, but wasn’t sure if it would have made a difference, even if he’d known. 

But no one had mentioned it, since he’s been back, and so he had hoped.

Turns out, they were just waiting. Steve has been waiting.

He wonders, if he just keeps his eyes closed, if Steve will go away. He tries it. Peeks.

No dice.

“I—“ Tony sighs, opening his eyes. “Steve. I—I know you don’t want me. Not really. And yeah, I—I want you to be mine. I want that, but I know I can’t have it. I … I’m too possessive, I hold on too tightly. Pepper tried to tell me before she left, and it took a while before I was able to hear it. And I have nothing to offer you; nothing you actually want. Nothing, more, I mean. The Tower, and everything else; that’s yours anyway, I mean, it’s all of yours, of course I’d never make that contingent on anything, and I don’t—I don’t want to buy you. Any of you. I don’t, I wouldn’t—“

“Tony.” There’s a note of censure in Steve’s voice, and it hurts, because Steve it means still doesn’t understand. 

“Pepper and Happy, they work for me, they don’t—I know you think they stay because they work for me, but they could find other jobs, I’d give them a good reference and Pepper, well, don’t think she doesn’t get head hunted every other week, of course she does. I mean, they’re mine only because they work for me, and beyond that, I don’t get to keep them … ”

“Tony.”

“… so they work for me but they could leave anytime, you know, I don’t force them to stay—and more importantly, they _know_ they can leave anytime, because even though I pay them whatever they want they both know they could make more somewhere else. Justin Hammer kept trying to steal them even though Pepper hates him and they—I don’t know why they stay but it’s not because--I don’t, I won’t buy people, I swear I don’t.“

“Tony—“ but Tony can’t hear it, he has to finish, so he cuts Steve off.

“You can do better, you are better, I know that, okay? I’m too old, and too difficult, and hell, I don’t even know if you like men, I mean, you know, not when there aren’t a thousand beautiful models of whatever gender you want, whatever, people who are sweet and young, who would be dying to do whatever you want, however you want it.”

“Tony!”

“I know I’m not anything to you, Steve. I know, and I just want you to know I understand that. I shouldn’t have said anything, it was the damn drugs and I don’t know but I don’t want you to think that –“

Steve puts his hand over Tony’s mouth, stopping his words. “You know,” said Steve very deliberately, “for a genius you are consistently very stupid.” He releases his hand, once Tony looks like he’s willing to take a breath, only to hear--

“Hey! That’s not fair, I’m trying to make things right, to explain so that you don’t feel awkward and so you know that nothing has changed or needs to change, I’m trying, all right, because—“

“Tony. Things have changed.”

“Oh.” Tony tries not to look as devastated as he feels, but it’s hard. He can—now’s not the time. He needs to pull himself together; he needs to be strong. This isn’t even his worst fuck up, although it feels like this one might hurt the worst. Still. He’s created this mess, and he’s the one that needs to clean it up.

“How,” says Steve helplessly, “how could you think they haven’t? After you’ve said all that?”

“Because,” says Tony, and swallows the lump building in his throat. “Because nothing really has, for me, except now you know. I don’t expect anything, Steve, I promise, I really don’t and I’ll do whatever you want, I’ll even leave if you want, but the team, the team needs you and I don’t want anything to change for them. Not when it’s _my_ problem.”

“Tony. What if I’ve _wanted_ you to be mine?”

There is a long silence, punctuated only by Tony’s wheezing breaths. 

“What?” Tony feels like he’s in shock. He wants to pinch himself, to--

Steve’s face is filled with despair, with hope, with longing and Tony—

“Tony,” says Steve. “I was yours a long time ago. You’re the only one that never knew it.”

He can’t move enough to reach Steve, but Steve moves for him, and it’s perfect.

“Welcome home, Tony,” Steve whispers against Tony’s lips.

The smile spreads over Tony’s face, and despite the drugs, and the pain, and even Steve’s soft kiss: there’s no power in the ‘verse that can stop it.


	5. Exotic Locales

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please see part one for summary and notes.

For all he seems larger than life, Tony is unfortunately all too human. The attack, on top of his pre-existing injuries, have resulted in a recovery that is more relapse than recovery for the first couple of days. Steve is true to his word, and ensures that Tony is allowed to move home—but the move is taxing, and leaves Tony—and the rest of the team, upset, anxious, and spent.

Steve had tried to convince Tony to stay in the hospital willingly, despite the deal, but—

“But you promised,” said Tony. “You promised.” His eyes were fever bright, and the doctors had washed their hands of the situation. Steve might have been very rash when he made the deal in his head— _Tony wakes up, and I’ll take him home_. 

“I want to go home, Steve. Please, please, I want to go home.”

“I thought you wanted to go to the Amalfi Coast,” said Steve, trying for teasing. “Look at you, so fickle.” It had been a couple of months ago, Tony had been tinkering and Steve sketching, when Tony had seemingly randomly suggested going to Italy. 

Of course Steve had refused, confused and chuckling, reminding Tony of the upcoming press conference, his S.I. commitments, a thousand other commitments and appointments and things that seemed very important.

And then Tony had gotten kidnapped, and Tony had gotten injured, and--

He should have said yes. That’s all he should have said.

“Italy.” Tony smiled, eyes still closed, hand reaching out blindly, and Steve released a breath. “I thought you said—“

Steve swallowed. “I changed my mind. You want to go, we’ll go.”

“You’ll come with me?” asked Tony, as if what Steve was saying and what Tony was hearing weren’t quite the same.

“Second you’re up to it,” replied Steve firmly. Steve found Tony’s hand, folding it firmly into his own and hanging on.

“I’m up to it now,” grumped Tony, frowning slightly.

“No, you’re not,” said Steve gently, forcing laughter into his voice. “But you will be. Is that where you want to go? The Amalfi Coast?”

“I don’t know. I just liked it when I was a kid, but what do you think? Anywhere you want, I’ll take you. If you want Mars, the drinks there suck, just so you know, but I’ll take you. Just—just please, I really, I really want—“

“Okay, settle down, come on, Tony. I said I would, and you know I’m a man of my word. Trust me.” Behind him, Steve watched the nurse deftly and silently change out the IV bags, check fluid and other levels, and nod at Steve before slipping just as silently out of the room.

“Of course, of course, but Steve—“

“Sleep for a while now,” says Steve, running a gentle hand over Tony’s hair. “Sleep, and when you wake up, I’ll take you home, and we can plan some more. All right?

“Have JARVIS run some scenarios,” mumbled Tony, “he can—“

“Sleep. I won’t change my mind, all right? I promise. Sleep.” Steve didn’t say anything then, and he wouldn’t now, about the fact that it was usually Tony who couldn’t get away, Tony whose work and obligations tied him down way more than Steve’s, Tony who often changed his mind and his plans as frequently as he changed clothes. 

“Okay. Don’t go, okay?”

“I’m right here, Tony. Sleep.” Steve kept his hand where it was, watching Tony relax by degrees. He sighed when Tony finally falls into sleep. 

“You’re an idiot,” snorted Natasha. “Just tell him he can’t.”

“I keep my word, Tash. I won’t do that to him.” He kept running his thumb over the back of Tony’s hand, over and over.

“Then I wash my hands of both of you,” snapped Natasha, “you deserve each other. And Steve?”

“Yeah?” He wasn’t sure he was doing the right thing, wasn’t sure of anything. He missed Bucky with a sudden pang--

“Southern Italy is best in the spring. The weather will help his breathing, too.”

Steve smiled.

***************************

Steve has a quiet word with Bruce outside the door before going back inside—they’ve set Tony up in his own bedroom, but the room looks almost like a hospital—there’s an IV, monitors, and they’ve used Tony’s money to hire three nurses full time. Tony has medical staff on retainer, so it’s not the hugest deal—but it’s still a step down from a true hospital. 

When he enters, Tony’s shivering, and he looks exhausted. His eyes slide closed, and Steve jostles him very carefully as he gently slides onto the bed and slips his left arm between Tony’s body and the pillows, pulling him a little more upright, holding him securely against his own body.

“Hey, Tony, I know you’re tired, but stay awake for me for just a little while longer, okay?”

“Tired,” Tony mumbles. “Sleep, _please_ Steve,” and it breaks Steve’s heart, hearing Tony beg. Tony tries to slip down in the bed, but Steve holds him in place firmly. Tony’s breathing is depressed; Bruce had explained in a lot of words how Tony was more vulnerable because of his post-arc reactor lung capacity issues, but the explanation doesn’t really matter. Steve knows how it feels. Steve also remembers how uncomfortable staying upright was when you were weak and dizzy and tired, but given Tony’s injuries, letting Tony lie flat would put too much strain on his diaphragm, and he’d rather Tony kept breathing. 

“Just a few minutes, Tony, I brought you some soup, see? Bruce made it, and it’s delicious, just—“

“Not hungry, Steve, _please_ ,” Tony begs again, but Steve hardens his heart, and his voice is firm. He’s already let Tony get away with too much as it is. Because Tony should’ve stayed in the hospital, and not been allowed to return to his ridiculous bed in the Tower, looking too small and too breakable and too damaged already. Natasha wouldn’t talk to either of them: she was a practical woman and didn’t believe in coddling anyone, least of all someone as spoiled as Tony.

Also, Clint was sulking about the whole thing, and Natasha’s first loyalty was always to Clint.

Also, Tony had scared them, again. Natasha didn’t like being scared.

To be honest, Steve didn’t much care for it either. “Just a few sips, Tony, Bruce made me promise you’d eat something, all right,” Steve gentles his voice, coaxing quietly, “just a few sips, come on, and then you can sleep for as long as you want, okay? Just a little, Tony,” he repeats, as he pushes the cup against Tony’s lips and tilts it, strokes Tony’s throat as he swallows, “there, that’s it … thank you, you’re doing so well, Tony, I really appreciate it … “ he keeps up a steady stream of nonsense, thanking Tony, praising Tony, encouraging Tony. Tony flinches if Steve calls him good or brave or strong, so Steve avoids those words; but Tony is okay with being told something he’s _done_ is good, and even though Tony doesn’t seem to acknowledge the praise Steve knows him, knows how badly Tony needs clear approval. 

It takes a while, and Tony tries a few more times to refuse, but Steve is patient. Eventually Tony has drunk almost half the cup. While Steve is a bit disappointed Tony hasn’t managed more he can also see that Tony’s clearly spent, trembling and grey, and so Steve finally allows Tony to fall back into a reclining position—still elevated, but more comfortable than he has been, and kisses his forehead, his closed eyes, stroking damp hair back off his face. Tony sighs, a tiny exhausted exhalation of breath.

“It’s ok, Tony, you can sleep now, all right? Just rest.” 

“You still want to go to Italy?” asks Tony quietly, eyes still closed.

“I don’t much care where we go, Tony. Been all over the world already; I’m just as happy to stay home.”

Nothing would ever beat coming home for Steve—he is a soldier at heart, and there is no place on earth, no matter how exotic, that will ever be better.

“Want to show you everywhere. Bet there’s lots you haven’t seen.”

“I bet there is too.” Because the world keeps changing, and many of the things he’s wanted to see are lost to him forever.

“Tell you a secret,” whispers Tony, and Steve leans in to hear him. He’s getting weaker, and soon he’ll drop off, Steve’s sure. 

“Yes?” prompts Steve.

“I love it best at home, too.” And Steve smiles, shaking his head. He knows that Tony is happiest in his lab, with his bots and JARVIS and a cold pizza, no matter what luxurious haunts the world might have to offer. He shifts on the bed, slightly, intending to slip out so Tony can sleep.

“Are you going?” asks Tony, voice slurred with exhaustion. His hand reaches out, searching blindly across the coverlet for a brief minute before Tony seems to remember himself and goes still, clenching the searching fingers into a fist. Because Tony has never—never, in all the time he’s known him, just come out and asked for Steve to stay.

So Steve plays to his strengths and slips his hand into Tony’s, using action instead of words. But before he can squeeze, Tony is gripping his fingers convulsively. 

“No,” Steve murmurs, leaning forward and whispering into Tony’s hair, lips against the soft skin of his temple. “I’ve told you. You’re not just mine, Tony--I’m yours. You know what they say--home is where the heart is. I’m not going anywhere without you.”

**Author's Note:**

> The end! Comments and criticisms and the helpful pointing out of embarrassing typos so I can fix them before someone else sees are all gratefully received. Thank you for reading :-) On to round 2!
> 
> (Incidentally, I am on tumblr, as ivorysilk7, if anyone wants to come find me there, or send me a message through that.)


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